Roger woke me up around 4.30pm, he pawed at the duvet. The skies were black and the mood of the weather had suddenly changed. We went downstairs and I cooked a jacket potato with beans and we sat in the kitchen , ( me in my underpants) as the storm rolled in from the South.
It was, what I describe, as one of those Hollywood storms , full of constant rolls of thunder and occasional lightening. Roger sat behind the kitchen door, with his head peeping around the opening, and allowed himself a tiny bark at each clash of thunder.
The storm was a good one with the thunder rolling against the basin of hills that surround Trelawnyd.
It was loud and dramatic, as storms should be , and I moved my chair into the doorway to watch.
The electricity went off, then flickered back on, then off again.
Mary quietly walked up and sat on my knee, and I remembered a recent meeting with the grieving son of a patient who just needed some physical contact in his pain.
He allowed himself a handshake which I prolonged a couple of seconds longer than normal
Mary remained knee sitting as after a break, the rain started to fall again.
